


the name of the game

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, a 'dating a rich individual and it's complicated' AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-10 23:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: 'He smiles at her, full of adoration. It’s a feeling she wishes she could frame, hang it on a wall. Perhaps that way she would feel less lonely when he is gone. “It’s only early,” he tells her, picking up his tie from the floor. “You could go back to sleep if you wanted.”And why would she want to? They don’t have long together, and she doesn’t want to miss a moment of the time they have left.'Where Fitz is someone he's not meant to be and all Jemma wants is for him to see that. And to stay. An 'I'm dating a rich individual and it's complicated' AU.An expansion of my 'dark and sunny mornings' prompt fill.





	1. In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jemmasimmmons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/gifts).



> hello!   
> This is the expansion of my 'dark and sunny mornings' prompt fill. If you've read it (chapter 16 in 'In All of Time and Space) then the first chapter of this is exactly the same!   
> If you haven't read it then welcome! I hope you enjoy this AU! It came from an angsty drabble prompt list (prompt from @jeemasimmons fs+'can't you stay?') so just beware of that.   
> It's a story in three parts, with an eventual happy ending!  
> The title is from the song 'The Name of the Game' by ABBA which I thought was quite fitting!  
> I hope you like it <3

The sunlight filters through the curtains and awakens Jemma from sleep. Smiling softly at the warmth that kisses her face, she rolls over, ready to share in the delight, but instead only feels an empty space.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

Fitz is already buttoning his shirt. Jemma can smell his soap and aftershave. Water droplets cling to the edges of his hair. A warm, pleasant feeling floods through her at the sight.

Sighing, she pushes a strand of hair away from her eyes to get a better look. “No, the sun did.”

He smiles at her, full of adoration. It’s a feeling she wishes she could frame, hang it on a wall. Perhaps that way she would feel less lonely when he is gone. “It’s only early,” he tells her, picking up his tie from the floor. “You could go back to sleep if you wanted.”

And why would she want to? They don’t have long together, and she doesn’t want to miss a moment of the time they have left.

“But I don’t want to.” Jemma doesn’t risk a glance at the bedside clock, can’t bear the countdown. Instead she tucks her knees closer to her chest. “When do you leave?”

Fitz checks his watch. It’s not his watch; not the scratched, silver one that runs two minutes slow but that he’ll never get rid of because she bought him it for his birthday when he was eighteen. No, this one is elegant; a brown leather strap with a gold-rimmed face. Expensive times ten. One that professionals wear.

“Soon.”

She can’t help it – she huffs. “That’s not an answer, Fitz.”

He grins at her. “I know. But knowing a precise time won’t make it any easier.”

No, she concedes. It won’t. Nothing makes their separation easier. It’s been so long now, that she though she’d be used to it. But every time he comes to leave she finds her stomach sinking and a sick feeling spreading throughout her. He leaves and every-time a little part of her is incomplete, until he comes back with the missing piece and she is whole again.

What a ridiculous way to feel, she knows. It’s extraordinary, the feeling of never being able to live without someone.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” She pleads, longing to reach out an arm and pull him back to bed, away from the leather-watch wearing professionals that desperately want him for themselves.

His whole face softens. She can tell he feels bad, but he continues to do up his tie. “You know I would if I could, Jemma.”

“Then why not? Why not give it all up and come and stay here with me? I’m doing more than well enough to support the both of us. We’d be fine while you searched for something new.”

But even as she says it she knows he’ll never say yes. This argument is well worn. He might love her, but the loyalty which she so loves in him is what keeps him at his father’s – now his – company. If everything wasn’t so tied up in it, if his mother hadn’t told him that she was so proud of the man he’d become before she died then things might have been different. After university, after she had moved away he might have moved with her. They might have gone together.

Now, as it stands, this is all they have. These stolen moments where he can escape the cities, escape the corporate world and they can just be _them_ again like when they were children. It’s not much, but it’s something. She’d rather have this than have nothing, after all.

“Jemma…” he begins.

“It’s alright. I know,” she says and smiles because she cannot quite mean it. She loves his loyalty, but hates that it takes him so far away from where he wishes to be.

“There’s meant to be a meeting in Paris next week.” He takes the comb she keeps for him from her dresser and begins to pull it through his hair. “A five day thing but I could probably get it done in three. I could some see you then?”

Her eyes begin to smart, and she presses her face into her pillow. It’s not what he means but what he says that stings ever so badly.

“Jemma?” His voice hovers uncertainly, but she hears him toe on his shoes and pull his jacket on over his shirt.

Turning back to face him, with trembling lips she warns him, “I’m not some kept woman, Fitz. Not some mistress.”

“I _know.”_

“Do you? Because you’re beginning to make me feel rather like one.”

His mouth hangs in an ‘o’ shape and she feels horribly guilty. These are their last moments together and now she has gone and spoiled them with honesty. That’s too much for them. They’re better with things left unsaid.

“This isn’t just sex for me, Fitz,” she whispers, and out of all the confidences they have shared, all of words that have gone between them, this might be the rawest.

“Is that what you think – oh, no, Jemma. No, I only-”

But the shrill ring of his mobile phone cuts them off. It’s not his personal use one – with the cracked screen protector and Dr Who case that she bought him as a joke and he never took off – but the sleek, silver one that houses technology that costs more than her car. It’s case is black, plain. Dull.

“Get it.” She waves away, feigns indifference. “It’ll be important.”

The call lasts ten minutes. He comes back in a rush, sentences and feet tripping over themselves in haste.

“I’m sorry. There’s been a big emergency and apparently I’m the only one that’s bloody available to deal with it even though technically I pay them to deal with it so now,” he faces her, chest heaving, eyes a little heavy, “now I have to go.”

She smiles, softly, gets out of bed to help him gather all of his things. Picking up the pieces like she always will, no matter what adjective adorns their relationship. “Didn’t you always have to go?”

“Yeah I… I suppose I did.”

Softly, ever so softly, she presses her fingertips to his cheek and reaches in to kiss him. He tastes like he always does and truly she doesn’t know how she could ever live without him. If this is what she gets then she will be content with it. If this is all she is allowed then she will treasure it, lest the universe decide she is ungrateful and take him away.

It’s a minute before se can trust herself to speak again. “You should be going. They might start to wonder where you are.”

He mumbles a ‘yeah’ and phones for a taxi. It comes far too soon and she holds back her emotions as he kisses her goodbye and promises to call. She watches from her bedroom window as he loads his things into it. She manages to watch as he turns back to face her and gives her a little half-wave and a soft smile before climbing in and shutting the door.

She watches as it drives away, until it becomes nothing more than a black speck on the horizon. And then she goes back to bed.


	2. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma goes to Paris. In the middle is where things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter that, even if you've read the first one, you won't have seen this one yet! This one is maybe even angstier than the last one, just to beware of that.   
> I can't promise when I'll have the third part up but it shouldn't be too long! Happier times are a-coming but for now, maybe just a little bit of pain.   
> Even still, I hope you like it!

It’s only a few days later when a first class return flight to Paris comes into her inbox.

There’s no note attached, no plea. Only the ticket, leaving 9am on Wednesday morning.

Jemma shouldn’t, really shouldn’t, except she does. She packs her bags, calls her work, and continues playing the game. It’s been going on for so long, now, that it’s just easier. And she misses him, really misses him. This life they have carved out for themselves isn’t easy, but it’s all she has. If she rebels against the system, she might have nothing.

She arrives in Paris and searches for him in the crowd waiting at the airport. She hasn’t told him she’s coming and when his face comes into view her heart beats with relief. He has tried; he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and he carries a bunch of flowers in his hands, but she spies the leather watch on his wrist, feels her heart sink and tries not to show it. When he sees her his face lights up, and for a second her world slows down. This, she thinks, is what it’s all for. To see that smile, it makes it bearable.

They hug, fall into each other, fit together the only way they know how. She feels Fitz take a deep breath against her neck, feels his smile on her skin.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming.”

Now she knows. The ticket was a gamble, an offering. All he can give. The image of him waiting at the airport without knowing if she was coming or not is too much for her mind.

“Of course, I was coming,” she whispers, holding him tighter.

-x-

It goes the way it always has.

Fitz rises at six, just after the sun. He’s very careful not to wake her, wearing an alarm around his wrist and slinking out of bed like a cat, but Jemma always awakens anyway. She pretends she hasn’t, concentrates on making her breathing even and slow. He goes for a shower, puts on the clothes he laid out the night before. This is when she yawns, rolls over, and asks him what time he’ll come back to her.

“As soon as I can.” He grins, then kisses her, even though her hair looks as though she’s been electrocuted, and she hasn’t brushed her teeth yet.

This morning, though, he holds her face gently, fingertips on the underside of her jaw, thumb running softly down the side of her cheek. In this light, the morning sun coming through the windows, he looks rather like an angel.

Something has shifted as a result of the last time; the rules are no longer quite as clear as they were before.

“I love you,” he murmurs. It’s all she’s wanted to hear, this conformation that what they do means just as much to him as it does to her, but not like this.

“I know,” she replies, blinking away tears, wanting him to leave so she can be selfish in peace. “I love you.”

Because she does. To leave his sentiment unshared is unthinkable.

For a moment, Jemma thinks he might stay. He looks at her, into her soul, and she wonders what he sees there, wonders if this longing she feels is written as clear as day. The clock ticks, seconds pass, and still he does not move.

Except eventually he does, because the game hasn’t changed completely. The rules are still the same. He sighs as he pulls away, picks up his briefcase, and walks towards the door without once looking back.

-x-

Jemma’s never been to Paris before, and, left with a company card and the use of a company car, she decides to go sightseeing.

Never has she been afraid to do things by herself; she’s never been a person to need other people to go to museums or have coffee or ice-cream in the park.

She pulls up TripAdvisor on her phone and takes in the sights, dutifully snapping pictures and eating croissants and going for a very precarious ride on the Metro.

She tries to enjoy it as best as she can, because when else will she be in Paris? It could be New York next, or Edinburgh, or Rome, or anywhere else in the world where money and power can reach. This might be the last time she’s here, it would be smart to enjoy it.

The thing is, while she’s never minded doing things alone, it doesn’t mean she wants to. This is Paris, city of love, and she sits alone with her book in the park. There are couples strolling, families laughing. Love everywhere, all different kinds. She longs for the safety of her Sheffield house, where she can be lonely alone.

Jemma finds the car and asks it to take her back to the hotel. On the way, unable to look at the busy streets, she looks at some of the pictures she took, hoping for a nice one to show her mum, but they all just look horribly empty.

-x-

“This feels wrong,”

She whispers it to Fitz at night, the safety of the dark enveloping them. Her head rests on his chest, his heart thumps softly, a prelude to sleep. They are pressed together, the way they always seem to be, as if any time apart is unbearable.

“What does?” He asks but he knows because then he asks, “Why?”

Jemma pauses, thinks, wonders. It’s not wrong. They have no commitments to other people, no other lives to be living other than the one they are. This game they play, this silly song and dance is by their own design.

Except it’s not, and she knows that. They are the architects, but only because it’s the only solution, the only way everybody gets something. Those old men, members of the board at the company get to have the Fitz they want, get to have their poster boy along with his brilliant mind. Fitz gets to honour his mother’s memory, keep promises he made before she died. And Jemma gets the Fitz she’s known since she was ten years old, or at least pieces of him anyway.

“I don’t know.” One breath, then two. “I don’t know how to keep on doing this.”

Fitz’s heartbeat jumps underneath her cheek, but she’s not brave enough to look at him. “Me neither.”

The admission catches her by surprise. Honesty of this level, this rawness, is new to them. She hopes it means something.

“What do you think we should do about it?”

Even as she says it she knows they’re heading back into the soft comfort of their old argument. His sigh, deep and weary, tells her this.

“What can we do?”

_Be brave._

But they can’t be. They can’t be brave. Because she’s not got manicured red nails and perfectly set blonde hair, because she’s a scientist and isn’t willing to give that up, be the poster wife. Because Fitz won’t subject her to it, won’t let her see what made his mother take him when he was younger, what he’s convinced had something to do with her death.

And because she loves him, she won’t fight him for it.

She deflates, not wanting to fight, not when he’s going to wake up just after six and slide on his Armani suit and it’s another day in Paris, alone. “I don’t know.”

He waits for so long and she’s almost asleep before he whispers, “We can do this, Jemma, right? We can still have this?”

Her breath catches. It would be so easy, but nothing is anymore. “I honestly don’t know, Fitz.”

He waits, she knows he does, but she has nothing left to say.  

-x-

They leave Paris together on the Sunday.

It’s different. They’ve spent the last two days together, done everything together the way they always have done. It’s so easy to be with him; to slip her hand into his as the walk down the street, to laugh and rest her head on his shoulder in the car on the way back from the restaurant.

This is the life she wants to make with him. The meagre scraps thrown to them to keep them both sated no longer suit her.

She wants a life with him, a real and proper one. She wants to do more than just share her bed. Maybe this was fine when she was twenty one, when meeting Fitz in hotels or him coming over at two in the morning after hours of flying was something exciting, an adventure. Something out of books and films that made life wild and different.

It’s not so, anymore. She tells him on the plane, when neither can run away from the truth before them. Jemma looks into his face, sees lines around his eyes and a shadow on his cheek that she hasn’t noticed before now. This life is killing them, can’t they see?

“Something needs to change,” she tells him, as Paris grows smaller beneath them. “This… whatever it is, it’s not working anymore, Fitz. We can pretend and pretend, but we both know it’s not.”

He nods, once, takes her hand in his. “I know, I know. I just…” he blows out a breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

 _Choose me._ The little voice inside her head whispers, selfishly so. Never will she say that to him. Never will she make him choose. Never could she do that to him.

“We’ll figure it out.” She gives him a weak smile, before resting her head on his shoulder. The flight attendant asks if they would like their complementary drinks now, but Fitz waves them away with a practiced hand.

Jemma is almost asleep, lulled by the quiet noise of the engine, when Fitz whispers, “I’m trying, Jemma. I’m bloody trying. Please tell me you know that. I just don’t want to disappoint anyone. Especially not you.”

 _You could never disappoint me_ is on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t bring herself to say it. Instead, she carries on breathing deep and even, and pretends she hasn’t heard.


	3. Apricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is cold and wet, but everything comes to an end eventually. The conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh here we go! The final part!   
> I have loved writing this and the feedback and reception has utterly blown me away. I'm so happy you like this AU! You guys are such amazing beans - I appreciate you so much <3  
> I hope you like this third and final part, thank you so much for staying tuned!

The winter comes and it comes furiously.

Rain and sleet pelt at her windows for days on end. Her work piles up as more and more researchers phone in sick with the cold, or broken ankles because of the ice. There’s a power-cut that leaves her in the dark for two days. Fitz is stuck at work, and only manages to see her for half of one night; he melts away at four in the morning and she wakes up with the bedsheets stone cold.

They barely speak when he visits, now. Not the way they used to. No more honesty. Truth is wrapped in thick layers of blankets and lies, tucked between them. It keeps them warm when they have nothing else to hold on to. It’s comforting to know that it’s there, but also comforting that they don’t have to confront it if they don’t want to.

It’s raining and cold and all she wants is him. This weather has never been her thing. Her toes are numb in her bed and she swears she sees her breath in the air. The winters goes on and on, and it only gets worse. Nothing seems to help. The days are long and dark.

He tells her one night when it is warm. His skin is hot against her; she’s surprised they don’t light up in the dark. He whispers it against her neck in hot, heavy breaths.

“I’m done.” A kiss. “I want to stay.” A kiss. “I want to be us. No more of this crap.” A kiss, accompanied by looking into her eyes, his own so electrically blue that she feels the shock accompanying his words.

Jemma cups her hand around his face, lets her love sink into him through her fingertips. Oh, how the strength she feels in these moments is enough for her to feel as though she could climb Everest without any trouble at all.

“Fitz,” and saying his name the way she does causes the mirage to crumble, his illusion to shatter, “Why?”

He stops, looks at her and when he says it she knows now that this is his truth, the words he clings to. This is what he knows, even if he knows nothing else.

“Because I love you.”

Even in her ecstasy, she cannot allow this. It has to be right, otherwise he will hate her later and that, surely, would kill her.

He knows, because he kisses her once and rolls onto his back, away from her. Instantly the cold comes back with an alarming force, and she presses herself into his side. Fitz’s arm comes round her and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“It has to be what you want, Fitz,” she whispers. He shivers beneath her words. “You have to believe it’s what’s best for you. Not just what I say.”

A minute ago they were red-hot; molten-lava at the centre of the Earth, impervious. Now they cool, become brittle. She needs to be careful, otherwise they could shatter.

Fitz says nothing and so Jemma nudges him gently. “You know I’m right.”

He sighs, ever so heavily, but his arm pulls her tighter and he drops a kiss on top of her air. “You always are.”

-x-

Fitz Skypes her a week later.

Winter is still here, ferociously battering against her windows until all she can hear in her dreams is the sound of their rattling. Jemma is dressed in multiple layers – the last of these being a penguin onesie that her well-meaning but slightly blind great aunt had bought her for Christmas in a size eighteen. She snuggles in bed with the hood up; it’s so large that it covers half of her face.

“Looking good,” Fitz laughs when she accepts the call. “Can you even see out from under that thing?”

“No, not really,” she huffs, pushing it back from her face, instantly grateful to see but missing the warmth. “But it’s freezing here, so it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Fitz’s camera quality is terrible, the image is grainy and almost black. She spies the glow of a streetlight outside the window behind him; he’s in his London office. The image is dark, but she can still see his face take on that thoughtful look.

“Yeah, sacrifices.” A more thoughtful tone as well. “Been thinking about them.”

“Oh?” It’s a very real struggle to keep her voice normal when her heart beats wildly underneath several woolly layers. “You have?”

He gives her one of his ‘oh come off it, Jemma’ looks. “Yup.”

“And?”

“And I’ve decided that I don’t even know why I’m here anymore.”

He scrubs his hands down the side of his face. His jacket is off, leaving him in only a suit and a half un-done tie. He’s been at the office a while, then. She sneaks a look at her clock, the red numbers flashing _23:24._ His leather watch sits on his wrist, she sees the gold-rimmed face catch the light from his laptop.

There’s something funny about disappointment, about how it comes from nowhere and leaves you feeling ever so empty. Absently, she wonders if she should study it.

“I think about leaving and…” Fitz’s voice cracks; he is opening up his most vulnerable parts to her. She pulls the duvet tighter around her. “And I just see my mum.”

Jemma had met his mother a lot when she was younger, before she got ill. A kind woman with a round, honest face, and prone to pulling people in for hugs when she met them. Not a corporate wife, not somebody who could be made into one. Jemma feels certain that that woman, the one who held her when she was homesick and made her soup when she was ill, wouldn’t want this for the son she loved so dearly.

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighs, aching to touch him, hold him. “You could never have disappointed her. Ever.”

She has told him this before, of course, but he never believes her. Tonight, however, spurred on by the howling wind and the pelting rain, she will not be frightened off.

“Your mum said she was proud of you because when you took over the company you made it better.” She sees as Fitz looks up, as she deviates from the script. “You gave profits to charity, you made it more environmentally friendly, you paid off her mortgage and bought her a car. This,” she says earnestly, “this is why she said she was proud of you. Not for being the CEO, but what you did when you became it.”

“But if I stop doing those things, Jemma, then what does that make me?” Tears glisten in his eyes. “If I stop, if I run away because I couldn’t hack it anymore then I’m no better than anyone else. You think the guy they have lined up gives a crap about the environment? About the domestic abuse shelters?” He sighs. “I’d never forgive myself if people got hurt because I was selfish.”

This is why she told him no a week ago. She knew he was still conflicted.

The wind picks up and she has to turn her volume up to hear his heavy breathing. He looks a million years old. To take care of himself would not be selfish, how can he not see that? To have a life where he could still do good away from the bad, without feeling like he must atone for the sins of the man he got his name from, would not be disappointing his mother. Jemma knows this, is surer of it than anything else.

“Then let me come with you,” she tells him, swallowing all she wishes she could say. “Let me start a life with you in the company, hm? I’ll be the wife, Fitz. I’ll wear the dresses, I’ll pose for the poster.” A deep breath. “I’ll do it all, if it makes it better for you.”

Jemma can almost sense Fitz’s reaction before it comes. His head snaps up and there’s fire in his eyes. “ _No._ Absolutely not happening. I’m not doing that to you.”

“You’re not doing anything to me, I’m making a choice-”

“Do you honestly think I’ll stand here and let you into this circus, let them hurt you, let them do to you what they tried to do to my mum?” A humourless chuckle. “No bloody way in hell, Jemma.”

“I’m strong, I-”

Again he interrupts. “They’re stronger. And they’ll try to break you down and down. I won’t let them do that to you. Not to anyone I love. Not again.”

She knew this would be his answer, but she had to try.

She sighs. “You have to think about you. This whole thing is ridiculous, now. We’re tired, Fitz. We’re getting older. This is childish, it’s a stupid game.” Tough love causes an ache in her heart but it’s the only way. “You have all the information. You have to make a decision.”

His voice sounds very far away and she has to turn the volume up even more. “Yeah, I know.”

“I love you, I really do.”

“I know.” He gives her a tired smile. _There he is._ “I love you, too.”

Then he just looks, his head tilted to the side and a half-smile on his face. For a second, she thinks he might reach out and touch the screen.

Instead he clears his throat, chuckles a little. “Next time I’m round I’ll have a look at your central heating. As adorable as the penguin is, your house shouldn’t be that cold.”

“I could start my own ice-farm out of here,” she complains, but lies down underneath her many layers of duvet and blankets, resting the laptop to the side.

“Now that would be something,” he says. “Imagine ever needing to farm ice.”

She shuts off the lamp and in the dark, with the wind having died down, it’s easier to pretend he’s right here, next to her, talking about the needs of ice-farmers, as she falls asleep.

-x-

Later.

Jemma wakes up to the cold air of the morning slamming her in the face. Her nose is numb. She burrows back under the duvet. The other side of the bed is empty but it’s fine, she can hear the shower running.

It’s three minutes before Fitz comes into the room, she counts the seconds. She listens for him to start getting ready, which he predictably does. There’s a war in her head: does she look or does she protect herself from the hurt him getting ready to leave will inevitably cause? In the end, looking wins out.

It’s dark this morning, but he’s turned on the lamp. It would be so easy to shut it off, for him to come back to bed. She sighs, pushes hair out of her eyes.

“What time do you leave?”

His back is to her, perched as he is on the end of the bed. Clothes rustle and it’s a beat before he answers. “Not for a bit.”

“Nowhere important to be today, then?” But to tease is an effort, for disappointment weights heavily on her heart.

“Nope. Not today.”

Still he does not turn to look at her. She frowns. Something is off.

“Are you alright, Fitz?” She asks, wondering if there’s something she said or did last night that has him acting funny. It was after midnight when he came around, and she can’t remember much except the usual rush she feels whenever he comes back to her. There were no conversations last night, meaningful or otherwise.

“Yeah, great, actually.” His tone is strange, but she doesn’t have time to ponder before he stands up and turns around and her heart skips a beat.

Dressed in a jeans and t-shirt, it doesn’t look like he’s rushing anywhere anytime soon.

Her heart begins to beat faster and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth but she isn’t sure. _Could it be?_

“You’re going to work dressed like that?” But it’s an effort of a different sort to keep her voice so light, when really if she let it go it might float away.

He grins. It takes years off him. It’s as if overnight someone has taken an eraser to the dark shadows under his eyes and the fine lines on his forehead. “I thought I’d get us breakfast, you know? Figured you might be hungry.”

Jemma’s stomach rumbles on cue and Fitz looks at it pointedly. He reaches down to find the suit jacket he left to the floor last night, pulls something out and begins to fasten it around his wrist.

A watch. Silver. Scratched - Jemma can see the yellow light reflect in them. Old. The best thing she’s ever seen.

She sits up in bed, completely unaware of the cold. Nothing can touch her now. “When do you have to go back?”

The pretence is fun, now, when she knows that it’s only a game; one of an entirely different sort that she’s used to playing.

“Never.”

A grin, so big, so wide, that it could crack her face in two if she’s not careful. “Really?”

He comes over, sits next to her, cups his hand around her face and looks into her eyes. Everything seems so beautiful now. “Really.”

It’s impossible to believe that, after all these years, they’re finally where they want to be. “But how can that be? You said…”

He chuckles, lowers his eyes slightly but keeps his hand around her face. She never wants him to let go again. “I know what I said, Jemma. But then I thought about what you said and you were right.” He shakes his head slightly. “Mum wouldn’t’ve wanted this for me. So yesterday I quit.”

It takes her breath away. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he confirms. “I’m still owner, technically, so I’ll have to do some things every so often but,” he says the next part with something she only could label as glee, “I’m free.”

Kissing him has never felt so good, so right. They are invincible, now.

“What will you do?” She asks, breaking away and resting her forehead against his. This is still Fitz, after all. He won’t be content sitting around all day, she knows him. He must have something.

“Well I was thinking I might start a new company, looking into green energy or stuff like that. I don’t have all the details worked out yet but,” he half shrugs, “I was wondering if you’d like to help me with it.”

The two of them, working together on projects the way they did all those years ago. It feels meant to be.

“I’d love to,” she tells him, unable to keep the smile off her face.

He looks at her as if he can’t quite believe it, as if this is his dream come true. She knows, because she can feel it in his fingertips, see it in his eyes and because this is the way she feels, too.

A shrill ring of the mobile phone breaks into the tranquillity and, despite knowing everything he has just said to be true, Jemma can’t help but be afraid.

He takes it off the beside table – the phone case, too, he has changed – and doesn’t even look at the caller ID before declining it.

“Fitz,” she admonishes softly, “what if it was important? What if you had to go somewhere?”

He tilts his head to the side, smiling as he shakes his head, as if some things about her are still a surprise to him, even after all these years.

“I think,” he tells her in a soft voice, “that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.”

And it’s unbelievable, it truly is. They've won the game. 

He takes her in his arms and flicks off the light, all promises of breakfast forgotten. It's something truly divine. Jemma imagines they glow silver, magical and ethereal, against the dark. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you ever so much for reading, I hope you liked it! Please feel free to leave kudos/comments. Please feel free not to. Either way, I hope you have a lovely day!


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